


The Hair (Makes the Man)

by art_of_a_diffrent_color



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, But only for a few hundred years or so, Character Death, Glorfindel has a guilty conscience, Guilt, He kinda has to bc of his story in canon, How Do I Tag, Its Glorfindel, Never done this before, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, So don't worry, Temporary Character Death, The elf dies ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-10 22:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17434856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/art_of_a_diffrent_color/pseuds/art_of_a_diffrent_color
Summary: He had died.Well, yes. That would explain a few things.(My entirely self serving fic in which Glorfindel returns from death, has to adapt to a world that has changed and somehow fulfill his mission given to him by the Valar. Written mostly because I have a head canon in which Glorfindel cuts his hair. There is no telling how true I will stick to Canon in this, so buckle up! Despite this Crackish sounding summary, this is, much to my supprise, not crackish in nature)





	1. Of Waking

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to anyone who might be reading this! This is my first fic here on ao3, so thanks for giving it a look! I cannot guarantee any consistency to the updates, I could very well wright the whole thing in one night, or this could take years. Fair warning. I will try to make this as complete as I can should anyone actually find this worth reading, and also to save my sanity.  
> I own nothing, not one bit of Lord of the Rings (only my copies of the books which I got at Barnes and Noble). I also do not have a Beta so if anyone is interested, please let me know!  
> With that, please, read (review if you like), and (hopefully) enjoy!

As began to fall the Balrog near  
He clutched the elf's hair golden glowing  
And with a death-cry that all did hear  
Plunged into the river flowing  
His body up was borne  
By Lord Thorndur the eagle then  
And long did the people mourn  
Glorfindil, Of Gondolin  
\- The Fall of Gondolin  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fire. Pain. A burning, unrelenting sharpness at his skull. Water, water everywhere and then, nothing.

It was with a gasp that Glorfindel came back to himself, his lungs heaving to expel water that was not there. Turning to his side, eyes clenched tight with the strength of his coughing, Glorfindel propped himself up on his arms. Once the coughing dies down, the Elf Lord takes the time to orient himself. Beneath his hands is a soft fabric, a velvet, and he is miraculously, dry. Falling back onto his bed the golden elf runs through what he can remember. 

He had been running. Himself and countless others hand been running. Running from…oh he couldn’t remember. Dam it, why couldn’t he remember? Not important. But there had been running, away from Gondolin, away from home. He had been leading people, and as they rounded a corner to reach the river-

The Balrog. 

The Balrog had been there, and he had fought it! That’s right, He had cut off its arm and it was falling, down into the river when it had grabbed him by his hair and drug him down with it. He had-

Glorfindels eyes flew open and, in a rush, sat up only to hit his head on a glass cover. 

The pain in his forehead was nothing compared to the revelation that coursed through him.

He had died.

Well, yes. That would explain a few things. Such as the foggy memories and general stiffness. But then where was he?

The sharp gasp and sound of shatterning ceramic drew the Elf Lords attention to a maden standing in the doorway across from his, aye Elbereth, from his coffin. Waving from where he lay did no good, as the poor woman fainted to the floor. Glorfindel couldn’t say as he blamed her. But being in a coffin did rule out the chance of this being the halls of Mandos.

Alerted by the crash from what Glorfindel could now see as a vase with flowers, three men came at a run into the room. One he recognized, the other two were not important.  
There standing in the doorway, strong as he ever was, stood Gil-Galad. On his brow was a crown of shining silver which could only mean –

“Then Turgon is dead?”

The King could only gape.


	2. The Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings to give for this chapter, but I do have an OC who makes a brief appearance. From what I have been able to research, Ardhgon roughly translates into "Green Stone" in Synderian. Roughly.  
> As always, Read, Review, and Enjoy!

There standing in the doorway, strong as he ever was, stood Gil-Galad. On his brow was a crown of shining silver which could only mean –  
“Then Turgon is dead?”  
The King could only gape.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had taken only a short time to extract Glorfindel from his entombment, seeing as Gil-Galad had marched over and shattered the glass by hand to pull the once dead elf into his arms. It was with arms that felt like led that Glorfindel returned the embrace.  
“How?”  
Before, if asked, Glorfindel would not have thought he had an answer to that question.  
“Not here,” The warrior whispered into the neck of his king. Gil-Galad, it seemed, understood and called over his shoulder to one of the elves attending to the fallen woman.  
“Ardhgon,” The shorter of the two jumps to attention. “Help me bring him to the halls of healing.”  
“Yes, My King.”

In the time it takes to reach the halls of healing, none speak. The going is slow as Glorfindels legs refuse to work at any significant pace, and by the time the trio arrives Glorfindel is weary beyond what he would have thought reasonable.

The Halls of Healing are much as any place of healing is; beds line the walls, each easily separated by a thin curtain of white that can be pulled into place as needed. The air is scented with herbs, used for healing and cleansing.

Through a window, Glorfindel spies the Ocean to one side and Mountains to the other. Which means that he is in Lindon, for no other city can be found in such a place.

The healer at the end of the room looks up, and only gives a small start at the sight of their King and one other supporting what should have been a dead man into their halls. It takes a moment for Glorfindel to place the face and even then it is strange to him; grey eyes sit heavy beneath sharp eyebrows and deep brown hair falls in curtains down their back.

“Peredhel,” Glorfindel greets the young elf as they draw closer, for this young one can only be the child of Erendil and Elwig. With those eyes and the faint signs of age around them that those born elf kind never have, there are few other options.

“Lay him here,” The half elf directs, and gently Glorfindel is helped onto the bed indicated.

Something passes between the King and the Peredhel, and Gil-Galad turns to Ardhgon and with a nod of his head dismisses the green eyes elf.

Alone in the Hall of Healing, Gil-Galad once again turns his attention to Glorfindel.

“You died.”

It is not a question, why would it be? They are not men, sometimes unskilled at telling the living from the dead, and as such are occasionally prone to entombing those who yet live. No Elf has ever made that mistake.

“I did,” Glorfindel agrees, voice rough from disuse.

“How? How are you here?”

The deep voice of his king echos in Glorfindels ears, bringing forth misty memories of beings without form and of words more felt then heard.

“It is not a tail easily believed,” the warrior warns.

“Today, I found one I have long considered a friend and whom I recently thought of as dead, alive behind the lid of his sarcophagus.” Ereinion huffs down at Glorfindel. “I think the limits of what I can believe have expanded greatly today.” Although his face is stern, the quirking of his lips, if faint, hints at the amusement behind his concern.

“Then let me begin with what I first recall.”


	3. The Halls of Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Halls of Mandos, Glorfindel faces Namo, and his story begins again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, three chapters in one night, all of them short, but all complete. This has pretty much taken on a life of its own, certainly far more then I originally planned it to have. Honestly this was meant to be a short somewhat crack-ish fic about Glorfindel having short hair. This is not turning out how I thought it would at all. I am doing more reaserch then I intended and have struggled to figure out html. Ah well, thats the way it goes sometimes.  
> I don't own Lord of the Rings or any related fandoms.  
> Please, Read, Review and Enjoy!  
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Halls are vast, and not a place Glorfindel has ever imagined seeing so soon in his life. Yet here he is. The floor below him is made of stone, near black in color yet it reflects no light.

  
There is no urgency here, no pressing need to be somewhere or to do something. Why would there be? These are the Halls of Mandos, built for waiting. As a result, time has no meaning and its passing is counted only by events happening. Once they happen, one must simply wait for the next thing to happen. This is not to say that there is nothing to do, only that nothing _needs_ to be done. The Gardens need no tending, nor do rooms need dusting. Things simply are until they change.

  
If pressed, Glorfindel would admit to being somewhat board. Death, it would seem, is not to his taste.

  
So it is on ambling feet that Glorfindel walked the Halls of Waiting, turning whenever he was moved to, no clear destination in mind. Glorfindel did not realize that the halls themselves were leading him somewhere until the elf came at last to a great room. Along the far wall stand a row of Columns, endless in their height, that continue until they disappear into the star filled ceiling. In front of them rests a massive throne, carved from the same stone as the rest of the hall.  
In the throne, it would seem, a shadow sits; Near black, hooded, both without substance and solid.

  
Glorfindel kneels. The shadow tilts its head and a voice like the wind that blows through a cavern fills the elves head.

  
**Come now and stand, little sun.**

  
“Why have I been called?” Glorfindel asks as he rises to his feet.

  
**You first born and your need for words. Know you not why you are hear?**

  
It is a question Glorfindel has often pondered. Not idly are the dead kept in the Halls of Waiting. It is here that they wait for the end of Arda, so that if judged by Namo they can once again partake in the remade world. To be here, before the throne of Namo himself would mean-

  
**Good, you understand then.**

  
“Am I to remain then? Or shall I be sent to the void with those who have transgressed too greatly against the song?”

  
**The void? Why would you go to the void, little sun? No, the darkness is not your fate. But neither are you to remain here.**

  
Confused, Glorfindel looks up into the hood of Mandos, eyes searching the impenitrible shadow for some information.

  
**You have done well, little sun. Although your crimes are many, you have done such to purge yourself of guilt. Be reborn little sun, for you shall again do good in the land of Arda.**

  
“What am I to do?”

  
**A darkness yet holds its sights on the land, though it be a new one. Be with the King of Starlight, to him give aid. To his herald, be of service. You are to be as the darkness you face, of equal kind, but of a brighter purpose. Go now with Alatar and Pallando, across the sea and to your being they shall take you.**

  
Two hands fall upon Glorfindels shoulders, and with a sensation not unlike falling asleep, the shadows of the hall merge into one until only darkness fills the mind of the Elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final note time!
> 
> The names Alatar and Pallando are the names of the Blue Wizards who canonically take Glorfindel back to Arda. (By boat I think, but I like my version better so that's what I am going to use. Sorry JRRT)


	4. Of Guilt and Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having recounted his tale of the Halls of Mandos, Glorfindel finds that not everyone is quick to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, chapter 4! Now with (totally unplanned) angst!  
> Read, Review, Enjoy!  
> See end of work for more notes.  
> \---------------------------------------------------

“You are right,” the Peredhel says once Glorfindel is done with his account. “It is not a tale easily believed. How do we know that it is true?”

“Elrond,” Gil-Galad interjects, his attempt to cut off the young elf falling on def ears.

“No Ereinion, I would have proof of some kind to validate his claims.” Grey eyes fix onto blue and Glorfindel can feel the intent in the gaze. “He claims, that the Valar have sent him back to battle a great evil that yet plagues this land, and it is true. Something in the shadows yet grows, but any who turn their gaze east can know that.”

The grey eyes, if possible, grow more intense, and if it were not for how well Glorfindel knows his own head, the golden headed elf would wonder if this Elrond could read his mind.

“I know of only one way the dead can return to life, and it is as dark as the shadow to the east.”

“Elrond! Mind your-”

“It’s true. Necromancy. And until today I would have agreed with you Peredhel.” Glorfindel cuts in. His eyes never wavering from the elf before him. “I can only tell you what I know, and that is that the tombs of Lindon are well guarded. Any Necromancer that would raise the dead within would need a long reach indeed to work their darkness on the dead, without any noticing.”

“It remains that you have no proof!”

“Proof!” Glorfindel sits up, all former stiffness forgotten, anger now smoldering in his mind. “What proof could I give then, the word of a Etyañgoldi and Kinslayer means little, I know.”

Elrond reels back as though Glorfindel had struck him and Gil-Glad furrows his brow.

“Etyañgoldi you may be, but you had no part in the destruction of Alqualondë.” The King intones, raising a hand in an attempt to placate the golden warrior.

“Nor did I try to stop it, and for that I am just a guilty as if I had taken part that day!” Glorfindel snaps, his ferocity causing Ereinion to take a step back. Rising to his feet Glorfindel continues, words pouring from him quick as smoke flees into the night sky.

The air in the room grows dense the longer Glorfindel stands and what the warrior had at first believed to be the glow of morning sun through the window he realizes is in fact coming from himself. Anger now replaced with wonder, Glorfindel gazes down at his hands, the shining light growing with intensity until all at once if fades.

Looking up at the elves around him, Glorfindel finds that both Gil-Galad and Elrond had shielded their eyes, identical looks of awe on their face as they lower their hands.

“That was a sign if I ever saw one.” Ereinion says, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear them of sun spots.

“Indeed,” Elrond murmurs, eyes downcast so as to avoid looking at the Glorfindel. While it hurts, Glorfindel understands why, not many would wish to look at a self-proclaimed kinslayer. Pushing the thought aside, Glorfindel turns his attention fully to his King.

“What is to be done now?”

“Now?” Ereinion squints his eyes at Glorfindel. “We plan, after you rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--------------------------  
> Oh Glorfindel you poor sunshine child, Elrond does not hate you. That man has no leg to stand on considering who his all but adopted dad was. I did not mean for Glorfindel to have so many feeling this chapter, so my excuse is that the Halls of Mandos don't realy let a person work through their guilt (real or imagined).
> 
> Alright, here is a quick rundown of some of the words I use this chapter that the average LOTR fan probably does not know:
> 
> Etyañgoldi- Refers to the group of Noldor who left Aman to get back the Silmarills. Literally means"exiled Noldor" in Quenya.
> 
> Alqualondë - In the first age, Feanor, seeking a way to Middle Earth came to the Harbor of Alqualondë, demanded boats, and when refused proceded to destroy everying and everyone. This event marked the First Kin Slaying. It is true that Glorfindel was a part of the host of Turgon, who did leave for Middle Earth, but only after Feanor and his sons burnt Alqualondë to the ground and stole the last boats. So, honestly, Glorfindel has nothing to be guilty over. But I get the feeling that he regrets not doing something to help and sees his lack of intervention just as bad as being a part of the killing.


	5. Of Feanorians and Maiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Glorfindel resting, Elrond and Gil-Galad have some things to discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another Chapter! This one is me trying to fill in any plot holes I could think of and try to give an answer to why Glorfindel glows. (Thanks again to Lola for the comment!)  
> This Chapter is almost twice as long as the rest, because I have found that things needed to be said. And I STILL have not gotten to the whole reason I started this fic - giving Glorfindel short hair.  
> Read, Review, and most importantly, Enjoy!  
> __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Despite his protests, Glorfindel found that he was truly tired and it did not take long for him to find sleep. Meanwhile Ereinion Gil-Galad and Elrond make their way to a nearby deliberation chamber, with an unspoken agreement to maintain silence, until the door shuts with a soft ‘click’ that echoes in the quiet room.

“You believe him then?” Elrond asks the figure examining tapestries from where he has taken up position at the long table.

“Not since Luthien have I beheld one with such a light about them.” Ereinion confirms, not taking his eyes away from the scene before him: a maiden dances deep in the woods, an aura emanating from her while a man looks on from between the trees.

“You doubt that an enemy from the shadows could possess the same light?” Moving up to his Kings side, Elrond gestures to yet another tapestry; this one of an elf, both fair and foul with a shining aura emanating from them also, standing at the foot of a being clad in ice and crowned in smoke and fire.

“I doubt,” Ereinion sighs, turning at last to face the young elf, “That an enemy from the shadows could bestow such light on another, especially where necromancy is concerned.”

Elrond ponders the words, gaze on the ground, before nodding once and moving away.

Gil-Galad lets the young elf stew in his silence, having learned by now that Elrond will speak when moved to and not before.

“I spoke out of turn,” The elf begins, words measured and slow. “I had not realized that Lord Glorfindel was a Feanorian.”

“He was- I should say, is- not.”

Elrond looks up, ears twitching in confusion.

“Then why does he claim –“

“The name of Kinslayer? Guilt, I would imagine, for none here that I know of have ever called him such.”

Ereinion sighs taking a seat at the long table and motions for Elrond to join him.

“I forget sometimes, how young you are. While none here would ever lay guilt on him for the acts of the first Kinslaying, there are those who I suspect have; Those who have lost family to the actions of the Sons of Feanor and hold those who followed them to blame as well.”

“I thought Glorfindel followed Turgon?” Elrond asks, slipping into a seat next to the king.

“He did.” Gil-Galad agrees “And while Turgon did not follow Feanor the day of the first Kinslaying, he knew where he was going, and had a strong suspicions of how things would turn out. And instead of defending those who were attacked, he and his forces did nothing, only to follow after the Feanorians on foot. Pain and loss do not make for clear thought, and I have found that none blame Glorfindel more than himself. The death of that day was great, you yourself know the lengths the Feanorians have gone to, to reach their goal.”

Elrond hums, ears twitching with a discomfort that had been growing from the first mention of the Sons of Feanor.

“How came he, do you think, to the Hall of Artifacts? From what I have heard tell of, his body was taken up to the top of the cliff from which he fell and there he was buried in a stone cairn.”

“By that description, his body would be a poor place to return him to. Why not his shield and armor?”

“Why not by boat if he has truly come from Aman and The Halls of Mandos?”

“Perhaps-” But Gil-Galads words are drowned out by a scream.

In a flash, the two elves are on their feet, running as fast as possible toward the sound.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there goes Elrond pointing out my first instance of ignoring canon. Because, yah, Glorfindel did in fact return to Arda by boat and not by just appearing suddenly.  
> Of the tapestries I describe, I was aiming for the tale of Luthien and Beren for the first and of a scene with Sauron and Morgoth in the second. The Reason for this, for those who don't know, is that Sauron is one of the Maiar and Luthien is half Maiar (She is also I think Elronds Grandmother). It is said that when Glorfindel returned he had been given powers similar to those of the Maiar, which I am choosing to interperate as similar to those of Luthien.


End file.
